The Echo of Violence

without feeling the need to fill in the void in conversation.

“No, it doesn’t, but I’ve got a favor to ask.”

Given what Father Ignatius had shared about Sayed—something he didn’t have to do—she felt comfortable trusting him to a point. Although she’d have to verify what he’d told her through Garrett, she’d need a favor and someone local to help.

“As soon as I make a call, I’m sending my team back, but I’m staying with Kinkaid. I can’t leave him in his condition.”

“Yes, I wondered about that,” he said. And as they made their turn to head back to the hacienda, he added, “I’ll be happy to provide my car…and anything else you require while you’re here. I would consider it an honor.”

The only thing Alexa really needed was out of her hands. She’d never thought of herself as religious or even spiritual, but with Kate putting in a good word for Kinkaid, she hoped a few prayers couldn’t hurt.

It didn’t take long for Alexa to place the call to Garrett from the Gomez hacienda to confirm the story from Father Ignatius. She cut Hank and the rest of her people loose, and they made arrangements to go, but Jessie was reluctant to leave until Alexa convinced her. She had explained that the Sentinels preferred to minimize their presence on foreign soil, and their success relied upon their continued anonymity. And she finally had to admit to her new partner that her need to stay had become personal.

But before Jessie got in the SUV, she had something to say.

“Thanks for arranging Seth’s visit to New York City. Apparently you knew before I did. That guy can grow on you…” She grinned. “…like a wart.” When her smile faded, she said, “It’s always been hard to know what’s good for me. I never learned that skill. My whole life, I feel like I’ve been whacking myself in the head with a hammer. And someday, it’s gonna feel real good when I stop.”

“Self-destructive behavior. I get it. Good analogy.” Alexa nodded. “Mind if I use it sometime? I’ve gotten pretty good at swinging my own hammer.” She shook her head. “But I had a hunch about you and Harper. He’s… special. And you deserve to be happy.”

Take your own advice, Marlowe.

Jessie had made the assumption that Harper’s trip had been solely intended for her benefit. Alexa didn’t consider herself that altruistic. In hindsight, she’d let her libido do her thinking when she asked Harper to make the trip. The idea of taking on a younger lover had driven her to extend the invitation, but she was thankful that she’d forced Jessie to make a choice one last time before she crossed the line. For once, she’d exercised restraint, and it had paid off in a way she hadn’t expected. She felt closer to Jessie, like a big sister.

And although being with Kinkaid on this mission had opened her eyes to how things could be with someone she really cared about, the reality of her feelings scared her. She wondered if she could open her heart to a man like Kinkaid, but maybe it was already too late.

“You seem to have some history with Jackson Kinkaid,” Jessie said. “…like he was the one who got away.”

“So far.” Alexa raised an eyebrow and smiled, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. “See you stateside, partner.”

“Call me if you need to talk. Anytime, day or night.” Jessie reached for her shoulder, but Alexa opened her arms for a hug.

“Yeah, you got it. And thanks, Jess.”

After her partner got into the SUV, Alexa waved good-bye to the rest of her team. They drove from the Gomez hacienda, leaving her with a growing emptiness deep inside. Whatever was about to happen, she’d have to face it alone.

She hoped the ache she felt wasn’t a premonition of bad things to come.

Hours later

Dr. Gomez and his wife had offered her a bedroom. A very kind gesture considering her team had held them at gunpoint only hours ago. After thanking them for their hospitality, Alexa turned down the invitation. She wouldn’t leave Kinkaid’s side, even if she had to sleep on the floor.

If something happened, she didn’t want him to die alone.

She pulled up a chair next to his bed and held his hand until she got antsy and made herself useful. As the hours went by, she cooled his skin with compresses. She wiped his brow and ran a damp washcloth over his chest and down his arms.

Touching him. Helping him. It was all she had left.

She whispered to him and told him things she never would have said if he were awake. Intimate things she felt for him. He never woke up. She watched the sun set through a window, but as darkness settled in the room, she didn’t turn on a light. She let the shadows close in and swallow her.

Alexa sat with Jackson in the dark and listened for every breath he took.

She must have fallen asleep, because when she awoke, it was nearly midnight. Someone had draped a blanket over her shoulders as she laid her head next to him on the bed. And a small lamp shone its light into the room, cutting through the darkness.

Kinkaid’s IV drip had been changed, too.

Alexa stretched and took a quick break. The house was dark and quiet. The doctor and his wife had gone to bed. And she noticed the priest had taken off, leaving his car parked in front as promised. When she got back to Kinkaid’s room, she saw that his clothes had been cleaned and folded on the dresser next to his tactical gear. And the pouch where he kept his iPod and the tracking beacon was there, too. When curiosity got the better of her, she walked toward the dresser and pulled out his iPod and searched through it.

She had expected to see his play list, but that didn’t happen. Only one recording was listed, and she found it odd. That alone intrigued her. The iPod was intended for multimedia use—music, videos, and electronic downloads of all kinds. It had a capacity for thirty-thousand-plus songs and hours of video.

But Kinkaid only had one recording on it.

She plugged the iPod into her ears and listened to his only song. From the sounds of it, someone had made a special recording for him. There were voices and muffled laughter. And a contagious giggle that made her smile.

“Come on. Talk now, silly,” a woman prompted. “Just like we practiced. Remember?”

In the background, there was a garbled sound of a microphone brushing against cloth, but eventually a little girl’s voice came on.

“This is my song…for you, Daddy.” The child couldn’t have been more than five years old. “I miss you, Daddy.”

“Daddy’s little angel insisted on playing this for you, honey. She knows it’s one of Mommy’s favorites,” a woman said in a playful voice. And in a more intimate tone, she added, “I miss you, too. Please come home soon. I love you, Jackson.”

The haunting melody of “Angel,” a song by Sarah McLachlan, began to play.

Her smile vanished. And Alexa felt her heart beat faster when the song talked about second chances. At first, she felt like an intruder into his life until anger bubbled to the surface. Why hadn’t he told her that he was married…and that he had a child? She looked at his reflection in the mirror as if seeing him for the first time. And a flood of memories and quiet conversations rushed through her mind as the song played.

Had she seen the signs and ignored them? Or had he deliberately lied to her and kept his marriage a secret? She couldn’t reconcile Kinkaid earning money from drug cartels and going home to his sweet little “angel.” Did his wife even know what he did for a living?

She fixed her gaze on Kinkaid through the mirror and forced herself to listen to the whole recording. The sad lyrics conjured a pervasive loneliness. And with nothing but her solitary existence ahead, she felt exhaustion bleed from her veins. Her fatigue made it easy to imagine that he’d somehow betrayed her.

And she wondered if he even knew the story behind the song. It had been written for a drug-addicted keyboard player who had overdosed on heroin. The angel in the song referred to the drug that eventually killed him.